


Spin The Bottle (And Be Quick About It)

by jekyll_inside



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking Games, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Enjolras is questioning, Enjolras/Grantaire-centric, M/M, Never Have I Ever, Spin the Bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jekyll_inside/pseuds/jekyll_inside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'"Seeing as y'all are so frickin enamoured I'm gonna be kissing a lot of hands tonight," Grantaire murmured, and they laughed. And then under normal circumstances, they would have stopped laughing.<br/>Because the bottle had landed on Enjolras.'</p><p>Or: When a drinking game results in a rather personal research project.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooo :D  
> First upload in this fandom, eek! Apollo and the Toad are my life blood and I finally got the guts to upload - hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> (warning for strong language)

Enjolras smiled more when he was drunk. Not often, mind you, oh no - not even generous repeated top-ups from Courfeyrac's seemingly endless supply of red wine would make their fearless leader _that_ foolish. But when they did come, whether it be a curl of his lips in a smirk or the dazzling flash of a gin at one of Combeferre's long-suffering mutters, Grantaire's chest seemed to both swell and tighten and the same time.

"I still can't work this game out," he murmured at one stage from his side of the circle opposite Grantaire. It was one of the rare nights when Combeferre could surface from his mounds of work to join Les Amis in Courfeyrac's flat, and one bottle had already been emptied by them all in celebration. 

"E, it's simple," Cosette told her brother for the third time, sitting on his left on the floor with Marius perched on the edge of the couch behind her. "You say something you've never done before, and it other people _have_ done it, they drink."

"But are we trying to get drunk or remain sober?" he asked, meeting her similarly blue gaze and the Bahorel's when he replied for her:

"We're trying to get drunk, E."

"It's a drinking game," Eponine added flatly, sitting by Marius so she could braid her girlfriend's hair intently.

"I see, so this isn't like the game we just played."

"No, that was just poker with the addition of wine," Combeferre told him. He was on his right, long legs neatly crossed and currently pillowing a sprawled Courfeyrac's head. Their host was always the first to be completely out of it, his eyes drifting happily between his friends as he watched them speak.

"Alright, I understand," Enjolras said with his usual prepare-for-battle nod. The only thing that gave him away was how he narrowed his eyes and blinked a few times at his mug of wine.

"Sure you're up for it, Apollo?" Grantaire smirked, lifting one hand that he'd been leaning back on to bring his own mug to his lips (Courfeyrac didn't own many glasses). Enjolras gave him a familiar look of mild disapproval and a little amusement - he could thank the wine for the latter - and replied flatly:

"I think I'll manage, Grantaire."

"Start! Start!" Courfeyrac chirped, reaching a hand above his head towards nothing in particular and nearly knocking Combeferre's glasses off. They obliged him like he was their frail grandmother, Cosette shuffling back snugly between Marius and Eponine's legs as a way of announcing that she'd go first.

"Never have I ever," she began dramatically, peering at each of her friends in false drama. "Smoked pot."

Grantaire and Bahorel snorted together from their side of the circle and drank with Eponine, Combeferre looking at them disapprovingly. 

"You have?" Cosette asked, tipping her head up to look at her upside down. "Can I try some time?"

"Maybe when you're older," Eponine smirked around her bottle, which made Marius laugh a little nervously.

"Bahorel, you go." Grantaire murmured. Enjolras was intently focused on watching his friends in their natural habitat, like an explorer learning the customs of an alien species. He was looking at each person intensely as he noted whether they drank or didn't drink, then fixed the next person in the circle expectantly as he waited for the ritual to continue. Grantaire smirked, then focused on Bahorel again. 

"Er, okay." He shifted his weight onto one hand and swirled his beer bottle with the other as he thought. "Never have I ever... I dunno.. kissed Courf?"

_"What?"_ Courfeyrac spluttered in complete disbelief, and everyone else laughed as they took a drink. Everyone except Enjolras, who watched the unanimous display and frowned in confusion. 

"Wait.. so _everyone_ has kissed Courfeyrac?" he said, as if he was hoping he'd misunderstood the rules again.

"Bahorel!!!" Courf practically howled, waving his arms as if to get up. "We must rectify this!"

"Nope," Combeferre murmured simply, holding him down with just a finger to the forehead and a slightly amused smile.

"Before they got together," Cosette explained to her still confused brother. "And not all at once, just like, at some stage."

"I must have missed the memo," he replied, raising a sceptical eyebrow that made Grantaire chuckle. Enjolras heard it and glanced at him, shrugging and smiling a little before ducking out the way of Courfeyrac's rogue arms. Grantaire liked that moment, and he smiled into his nearly empty glass - it was the sort of casual friendship usually reserved for Combeferre, and it made him feel stupidly special for a second.

"Grantaire, you go," Marius prompted, leaning his head against Eponine's shoulder.

"Me?" he replied, making a show of being surprised. "But dear Marius, there's no point! I've done everything!" Bahorel snorted again, the couch crew laughing as Courfeyrac said from where he'd happily settled back against Combeferre: "You've got to say something, 'Taire!" 

"Sorry, Courf," he murmured affectionately, before falling into thought. He took so long, frowning deeply under his purple beanie, that Cosette laughed at him.

"Come on, 'Taire, there must be _something_."

"Alright, alright, never have I ever.." Enjolras was looking as him intently, which wasn't helping his vaguely intoxicated brain think of anything clean. Then he found a compromise. "Never have I ever heard Enjolras cuss." They didn't have to know he'd _imagined_ it in various heated scenarios, most of which involved hair-pulling and small spaces. Enjolras gave a kind of amused huff, frowning at him as the others drank with surprised sounds of agreement. Only Combeferre and Cosette didn't.

"Surely you have, Grantaire," he murmured sceptically, seeming to ignore the others.

"Why, because I drive you to insanity at every meeting?" he returned with a grin, and Combeferre smirked.

"Well yes," Enjolras said. "But I suppose.." He thought for a moment, moving a curl out of his eyes absent-mindedly with a hand Grantaire's eyes tracked. "I don't tend to swear. There are so many better ways of expressing something."

Grantaire laughed. "Depends what you're expressing." Like a whispered _fuck_ in his ear.

"Say fuck, Enjolras," Bahorel said with his usual bluntness, and Grantaire almost started at the apparent mind read. Enjolras might have flushed ever so slightly, but it was difficult to tell in the lamplight of Courfeyrac's living room.

"He doesn't have to," Marius offered diplomatically, but Enjolras shook his head.

"It's fine." He shrugged loosely and fixed Grantaire with an unphased, even bored look. "Fuck, Grantaire."

Everyone laughed or whooped and Grantaire managed to join them only a fraction of a second later, recovering from the heartbeat when Enjolras had looked like he was challenging him, his teeth grazing his bottom lip on the first letter like he would bite it.

"Never have I ever," Courfeyrac announced, and Grantaire quickly looked away from staring at said lips, hoping Enjolras hadn't noticed but not risking another glance to check. "Seen Miss Thenardier's tattoos!"

Eponine laughed, and while her partners joined Grantaire in drinking she stood up, turning to face Marius and pulling her vest up to show her back. The patterns were beautiful, and Grantaire was distracted from the moment before by checking the deep green and black curls that trailed up her skin still looked okay.

"Why have you seen them, Grantaire?" Combeferre asked over the hushed 'oohs' of admiration.

"'Cause he did them, stupid," Eponine told him as she pulled her vest back down, trying to cover her pleased smile as she settled on the couch again.

"Really?" Enjolras said, pulling his eyes from the now covered patterns to look at him surprised.

Grantaire gave an automatic shrug at his attention. "Yeah. Ep liked one of mine so I offered to do something similar for her."

"It's brilliant, Grantaire," Marius told him warmly, and Cosette hummed her agreement. Enjolras simply gave a thoughtful nod, them glanced at Combeferre as Grantaire gave a smirk/shrug of thanks to his friends.

"Your turn."

"Alright." Combeferre, as always, was prepared. "Never have I ever kissed a girl."

Enjolras didn't drink. Grantaire didn't know why that was so significant to him as everyone else raised their glasses and bottles, but of course he didn't say anything.

"The time is here, brother," Cosette stage whispered while Courfeyrac murmured something to his boyfriend that made him give a small, bashful smile. Grantaire pretended not to care what Enjolras would say with not much success, in the end just looking at him with the same intensity he'd received himself while his sister refilled everyone's wine and passed Eponine the beers to share with Bahorel.

"Well, it's easy for me," their leader said, giving a shrug. Grantaire was the master of pretense, however, and could tell it was a false gesture of comfort from a mile away. "I'm the opposite of Grantaire."

"What," said Bahorel, "you haven't done anything?"

Grantaire found himself frowning a little, for Enjolras seemed to have very suddenly turned inwards at the words, shoulders curving and his jaw tightening in something like embarrassment but more... upset? Ashamed?

"No, not really," he murmured, trying to affect an air of nonchalance and tipping his chin up a little proudly. "Not with anyone."

"Well that's good news as far as I'm concerned," Grantaire suddenly blurted, a little loud. "It's an excuse to drink double!"

Courfeyrac cheered and luckily everyone else followed suit without a second thought, tipping their heads back for a few seconds of silent gulping that only Enjolras was excluded from before slamming down their mugs and bursting into laughter.

"Cosette you go again!" Courf called, as Grantaire watched Enjolras check his phone.

"Nooo, let's do a new game?" she said, and they all started shouting suggestions at each other, refills sloshing into mugs and the rules of obscure games being explained in a confusing muddle. Enjolras took a small sip of wine and moved it around his mouth, sitting forward as little and thinking about something that Grantaire couldn't guess. Then the blonde looked like he had an idea and looked at Combeferre - but Courfeyrac had pulled him down into a kiss and he quickly looked away again, a muscle in his jaw tensing and untensing. Looked at Grantaire. Grantaire gave him a smirk but his eyes narrowed questioningly.

_You alright, Apollo?_

And Enjolras gave him a small, tight smile, a single confirmation before they looked back at their friends together, both taking a drink and feeling an odd sense of alliance, like a thread hung between them through the noise.

"Alright, fine," Cosette said, having apparently lost a vote and putting her hands up for peace. "But people can pass if they want to, or just like, kiss on the cheek." There were noises of agreement, and as an empty beer bottle was placed in the middle of the circle Grantaire could gather what they were playing. The first spin was performed by Bahorel to get things going, who flicked his wrist too hard and sent the bottle flying into another empty one with a loud _chink_ of glass.

"Calm down, B," Grantaire grinned as the bottle was lined up for a retry, and the other man chuckled before spinning it again. Courfeyrac's green carpet slowed it down considerably, so the verdict didn't take long to deliver: Combeferre would be the first to spin for real. He adjusted his glasses from where Courfeyrac had knocked them askew and leant forward, a hand laid carefully on his boyfriend's frizzy head so he wouldn't squash him. When Combeferre spun the bottle it ran so smoothly Grantaire was sure calculated exactly the right angle or something. Cosette. Courfeyrac giggled, pulling himself upright with a grab of Grantaire's hoodie and slumping against his best friend instead. Cosette laughed at their host and Combeferre smiled, before they leant across Enjolras and kissed cheeks. It looked like they'd done it before, and Enjolras snorted. "Well that's not much of a scandal."

"You alright, 'Taire?" Courfeyrac mumbled quietly, and Grantaire recovered his default smile. It had fallen away when he'd looked at Enjolras again, replaced by a thoughtful frown.

"Yeah bro." He put an arm around his smaller friend's waist and they watched the game continue in a cosy slump, their backs against the coffee table. Cosette and Marius next.

"Wish the others could have come," Courf murmured then, and Grantaire hummed his agreement - they were staying with Musichetta for the weekend so she could show them around Paris. Then Bahorel nudged him, because the bottle had landed on Grantaire from Marius' spin. 

"Oh-" Grantaire eased himself up from his slump and re-engaged with the group, watching Marius stand up from the couch and deciding to kneel dramatically in the centre of the circle. "My Lord," he said in an exaggerated tone, "I would not wish to offend these ladies' delicate sensibilities." The three laughed with the others and Grantaire kissed Marius' hand as though he were the Emperor.

"Thank you, loyal subject," Marius murmured happily, and they grinned at each other before settling down again. Games like this used to be so much simpler when everyone was single, but it looked as though Grantaire was right in thinking 'real' kisses were out of bounds for everyone that was otherwise involved. When Grantaire spun however, the bottle chose Bahorel, who didn't have such an involvement and they both grinned.

"None of your royalist shit for me," he murmured, before they pressed their lips together - they'd done this many times before on similar occasions, and  Bahorel soon pushed harder when he remembered how good Grantaire was at it. Their friends laughed at them when Grantaire's back hit the coffee table and they managed after a second longer to pull themselves away, smiling appreciatively at the other and a little out of breath.

"Get a _room_ ," Eponine said and they laughed, Grantaire releasing his friend's shirt so they could reform the circle again, Bahorel pretending to fan himself while genuinely looking quite flustered.

"Bahorel, you spin."

Grantaire could pretend he'd forgotten about Enjolras all he liked, but when he spoke the cynic couldn't help wonder if that was annoyance in his voice. And when he glanced at him Enjolras looked, well.. annoyed. _What was up with him this evening?_

Bahorel and Eponine proved Grantaire's previous theory wrong, because Marius and Cosette found it hilarious to make their usually tough and dangerous friend blush like a moron. "Will you guys fucking stop?" he laughed, clearly embarrassed by his own embarrassment as he sat back down. "I'm gonna have a goddamn heart attack at this rate." Grantaire patted his shoulder sympathetically while Eponine's bottle spun. Grantaire again.

"No fuckin' way," she laughed, standing and saying with the flourish of a hand, "I choose the royalist shit." Grantaire grinned and obliged, not really seeing an appeal in his childhood friend either. As he spun the bottle after Eponine had sat back down, he said to the room at large:

"Seeing as y'all are so frickin enamoured I'm gonna be kissing a lot of hands tonight." They laughed. And then, under normal circumstances they would have stopped laughing.

Because the bottle had landed on Enjolras.

However, as Grantaire's mind went from stunned blank into overdrive his friends only cheered or catcalled, the wine apparently making the way Grantaire and Enjolras flushed the funniest thing in the whole damn world. Courfeyrac actually pushed him as little, and even Combeferre was struggling to stifle a laugh as he looked at Enjolras.

"Surely you won't be a _royalist_ , E?" Cosette giggled, and Grantaire's mouth was dry as Enjolras glared at him sister, strictly not looking at Grantaire's side of the circle.

"There's a first time for everything!" Courfeyrac chimed in. "And he's good at it, trust me!"

"Courf," Grantaire scolded, starting to wish he could be swallowed up by the carpet.

"What? It's true! Bahorel agrees!"

"He doesn't have to do anything he doesn't-"

"Fine."

Grantaire stopped. Everyone stopped for a moment. Then, when Grantaire met Enjolras' determined glare across the circle and their leader stood up, Les Amis broke into a cacophony of whoops and whistles, Courfeyrac falling backwards with a howl of excited laughter as Grantaire made himself stand up as well, like this was completely normal and his legs weren't shaking.

"Make him swoon, Grantaire!" Eponine shouted delightedly as Enjolras stepped across the circle, and Grantaire swallowed, desperately pulling back some façade of confidence and meeting him half way. "Ten seconds!" someone else said through a giggle that sounded suspiciously like Cosette.

"Sure you're up for it Apollo?" Grantaire managed, even succeeding in a smirk. Enjolras rolled his eyes, but this close Grantaire could see him swallow.

"As I said before, Grantaire, I'm sure I'll manage."

"Fucking kiss already!" _Thanks Courf._ Enjolras met his gaze determinedly, blue eyes burning, then looked down at his lips. _Fucking hell_ , Grantaire thought, before pressing his mouth onto Enjolras' a little forcefully. Their friend exploded with delight but Grantaire didn't - couldn't - hear them, because Enjolras tasted like wine and the soft feel of his lips sent shockwaves through his body. Was he doing it right? Was he pressing too hard? His mind whirred as he focused on the pressure, on what to do with his hands, on the way Enjolras' own slowly closed around the front of his shirt. _Fuck_. Someone was counting down and they were already on seven. Then Enjolras' lips opened a little wider and Grantaire almost staggered into him when their tongues touched. He took his hip for support but then Enjolras did the same, gripping him with both hands now and making his heart thud into his ribs. Three seconds. He caught Enjolras' bottom lip in his teeth before he could stop himself and it made him gasp, he fucking _gasped_ , the sound just reaching him through the howls of their friends and sending a blade of arousal through Grantaire that made his own breath catch. "Fucking hell, E," he muttered in the last moment, and it sounded more like a groan, before the shouts of their friends reached maximum volume and they practically shoved themselves apart from each other, Enjolras' hair messy and his face flushed and everything about him looking damn perfect.

"Congrats, 'Taire!" Bahorel laughed when Grantaire practically fell back onto the floor beside him, and he elbowed him in the ribs none too gently in reply.

"How was it?" Courfeyrac asked him, a secretive whisper in his ear that was half a giggle.

"Fuck you Courf," Grantaire murmured through a sneaking smile, his heart still pounding as he tried not to watch Enjolras settle as Combeferre's side and take a drink of wine, those blue eyes looking everywhere but him.

"Aw, Grantaire's blushing," Eponine crooned, which of course made it worse and he stuck up a finger, unable to keep that smile down.

"So's Enjolras," Combeferre noted, and when everyone looked at their usually collected leader and saw he looked a little ruined, shifting his weight and glaring at Combeferre venomously, they reached, if possible, new heights of hilarity. He'd kissed Enjolras, Grantaire thought a little giddily. He'd kissed Enjolras and he looked as though he'd liked it. Hell, he looked practically undone by it.

"To be fair," Bahorel said in an attempt at rescue, "I'd be pretty fucked over if Grantaire was my first kiss too."

"Cheers bro."

"Exactly, Bahorel."

That made them look at each other, and Cosette almost started crying when they both looked away just as quickly. "Pizza," she murmured, wiping at her eyes and getting Eponine to help her up. "We need pizza. I can't take this anymore." Marius was grinning like an idiot as he agreed, getting up to follow her into the kitchen with Bahorel volunteering to help as well.

"Jehan would have had a heart attack by now if they were here," Combeferre said with amusement, and Courfeyrac laughed, shuffling over to him again and nuzzling into his neck. Grantaire sneaked a glance at Enjolras when he dared to, and the blonde suddenly stood up, murmuring something about a phone call before he stepped out of the broken circle and left the room. _Ah hell._ Eponine caught Grantaire's gaze from the couch and raised her eyebrows.

_Go after him?_

He shook his head and took a big gulp of wine. He'd give him space, seeing as he was so obviously trying to get away. The high from the few moments before had very suddenly deflated, and Grantaire could feel some melancholic default beckoning him as he looked into his mug. Then his phone buzzed. He almost jumped, but eventually remembered it was in his pocket and retrieved it from his wine-free hand. A text from 'Apollo'. His stomach twisted but he opened it quickly.

**Can I speak to you a moment?**

_Fucking hell, he sounded mad._ Grantaire suppressed a groan and quickly typed out a far less eloquent reply:

**you dont have to it's fine, i get it sorry**

He hit send, then stared at the little screen until it lit up and buzzed again, his friends around him forgotten.

**I'm outside Courfeyrac's room.**

**dont be mad E it was jus a game**

God, why did he feel like such a kid when Enjolras was angry. The next buzz came a moment later.

**I'm not, R, just come and talk.**

He let out a breath, palms sweaty as he resigned himself to his fate and stood up, pocketing his phone. Eponine had been watching the small episode, and she narrowed her eyes at him questioningly when he passed the couch. "You good?"

"Yeah, I just gotta.." he gestured vaguely out the door and she nodded, pursing her lips as she said:

"Don't let him give you shit."

He nodded glumly, then stepped past her and out of the circle, loping into the dark corridor and wiping his hands on his jeans. It was a little colder out here, and quieter, Grantaire taking a left at the end of the hall towards Courf's room with a nervous pulse. _It's fine_ , he told himself when he say Enjolras' silhouette leaning against the wall at the end. _You're used to this_. Enjolras looked round when he heard his shuffling feet and the light from the street lamp outside the window caught his face in a half glow.

Fuck, he was so screwed.

"'Sup," he said quietly, electing to leave six feet of distance between them and stuffing his hands in his pockets. "You, er, wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I.. I wanted to make sure you were alright," Enjolras said, the tenor of his voice sounding even smoother in the dim light, somehow. 

Grantaire managed a huff. "The real reason?"

Enjolras shifted his weight. "That's not the real reason?"

"I know you're mad about the game, E, but that's all it was." When Enjolras looked about to disagree Grantaire continued, a flicker of irritation giving him a little more confidence. "You couldn't have looked more pissed off, don't say you weren't. Look, can you just yell at me or whatever then I can go back to-"

"I wasn't angry Grantaire, I was embarrassed," he interrupted, straightening from the wall. "There's a difference."

Grantaire tried not to flounder - what was he supposed to say to that? "Well.. well don't be _embarrassed_ , jeez, it's not like a big deal or anything."

"What?" Enjolras stared at him, then blurted: "What do you mean this isn't a big deal, of course it is! I acted like a complete- how is this not a big deal?"

Here we fucking go. "We just made out for like, ten seconds!" Grantaire cried. "You don't have to get all drama-queen about it, it's not like I took your goddamn virginity or something!" He regretted the words instantly and Enjolras faltered, pulling his head back a little in a small sign of hurt. Then:

"Forgive me for not being able to shrug it off so easily," he spat, shoulders squaring defensively. "I should be more used to feeling something significant for someone after believing myself to be asexual, thank you for reminding me Grantaire."

Wait, what? What the fuck? It took a full three seconds for Grantaire to register what he'd said and even then he still had no clue where the words had come from. "E, I didn't-"

"No, I understand," he cut in lowly, his hands visibly shaking by his sides. "Everyone loves it when you kiss them, what's new about this? But maybe I wanted to talk to you because I wanted your help, Grantaire," he muttered. "Maybe I thought this could be something we'd discuss and try and help me understand, not something you would _dismiss_ as though.. as though I'm some kind of _embarrassment_."

Grantaire couldn't speak, his insides going cold when he saw what he thought were angry tears in his blue eyes. What the hell was going on? How had he hurt him so much in such a short space of time? Then Enjolras was suddenly moving to pass him and Grantaire reflexively grabbed his arm. "Enjolras, wait-"

"I don't want to see you," he grit out, trying to shrug him off, but Grantaire was far stronger.

"No, wait, please. Please let me explain," he murmured quickly, taking his other arm as well for good measure. Every inch on Enjolras' expression was hurt, from his clenched jaw to his glaring eyes.

"What is there to say?" he hissed. "I've already said more than I should ever have told you."

That hurt like hell. "Please, E, I had no idea what was going on and I know you're just going to leave otherwise - will you.. can we just go into Courf's room a minute and talk?" 

"That's what I wanted to do in the first place, before you-"

"-fucked up? I know, but you've got to believe me, I had no idea this was any kind of serious shit, " he insisted. "Please, just a few minutes."

Enjolras glared at him for an icy, silent moment. Grantaire was breathing a little fast from stress. Then, with a jerky step back out of his grasp: "Fine." And Enjolras strode down the corridor into Courfeyrac's room. Grantaire breathed a sigh of relief and followed him quickly. Courfeyrac's room was small and cluttered, dark except for a square of pale yellow light across the bed from the window on the far wall. There were dozens of photos on the walls and one of Combeferre on the desk, but Grantaire had seen them all before, and when he came in and saw Enjolras lean against the window sill, arms crossed and eyes resolutely on the street below he couldn't focus on much else. He opened his mouth to speak to the half lit Apollo, hesitated, then closed the door quietly behind himself. Started again:

"Kissing you was a big deal." His voice seemed loud in the small space. "But I thought you were angry about it, so I only said it wasn't to, I dunno, make you feel better."

"Why would that make me feel better?" Enjolras asked quietly.

"I dunno, so that you could forget it if you wanted?" Grantaire stepped tentatively into the centre of the room. "I thought you were mad at me, for-for doing it like that, in front of everyone."

"That didn't bother me," he replied. "It's not like any of them have such reservations." He sounded a little bitter, and Grantaire thought of Combeferre, too distracted by Courfeyrac to notice how he'd needed support. Shit, of course he'd wanted support, after admitting he'd never done anything, after Bahorel had hit so close to home. Grantaire had thought he was just embarrassed about being a virgin, not..

"Who have you talked to?" he found himself asking, pocketing his hands. "About maybe being ace?"

Enjolras seemed to flinch. "I've mentioned it in passing to 'Ferre, but nothing concrete. And apparently it's not that simple anymore, is it?"

"Why not?"

He shot him a dark glance. "I've already told you."

Oh, yeah. _Feeling something significant._ "I-I wouldn't have put you in that situation if-"

"Grantaire, this isn't an issue of consent. I understood the rules of the game and I could have said pass if I felt that uncomfortable. This isn't even-" he faltered, then looked out the window again. "This isn't even a question of enjoyment. Which is exactly the problem."

"But.. so you haven't.." God, come on Grantaire. "So you've never like it before? With anyone?"

"No," he muttered. "I wasn't lying when I said I'd never done anything. The.. the appeal has never been there."

"But it is with me?"

"Shocking, I know." Shocking? Fucking earth shaking. Grantaire sat on Courfeyrac's desk and tried to think clearly, hands clasped and feet resting on the desk chair. His legs were starting to tremble again.

"Okay," he said, evenly as he could. "Okay. What if you're, like, demisexual?"

Enjolras was silent for a moment. Then he looked across at him, one blue eye perfectly captured by the glow of the street lamp and making it look like a crystal, pale and bright. "What does that mean?"

Oh jeez, Cosette would be so much better at explaining this. "It's when you're, like, only attracted to someone after you know them really well. After you've formed, like, a deep emotional bond with them." But did he seriously think Enjolras had such a 'bond' with him? Could he? Enjolras' gaze dropped to the bedroom floor, and Grantaire could practically the thoughts spinning around his head. Then:

"That would.. make some sense," he murmured, eyes moving over the bed but not seeing it. "I.. I'd have to do more research though. Feeling something once might not mean anything, and I'd have to work that out for myself before I could..." he trailed off.

"Nothing has to change," Grantaire made himself say. "I mean, the kiss was amazing but I know that you were just trying to work some pretty heavy stuff out."

"It wasn't 'amazing'," Enjolras scoffed suddenly, throwing his gaze out the window again. "You don't need to be charitable."

Grantaire blinked. "What?"

"It wasn't amazing," he muttered. "I just stood there like a complete idiot."

Were they talking about the same kiss? Grantaire could still feel long-fingered hands on his shirt, the bolt of electricity when Enjolras had licked into his mouth. "I'm confused," he said eventually, but Enjolras ignored him like he hadn't spoken, throwing up his hands in frustration as he continued to glare out the window.

"I mean, I could fake confidence all I wanted, but the moment you did anything I couldn't even stand up straight! No wonder you were embarrassed, I was utterly useless!"

"Enjolras I was embarrassed because I was half fucking hard, you complete _moron._ " That got his attention, and an incredulous laugh escaped Grantaire's lips at the look of complete surprise. "Seriously? You think think you were bad?" He stared back at Enjolras like he'd grown a second head. "I was- I wanted to- _Jesus_ if that's a bad kiss Enjolras I can't wait for one of your good ones."

"I can't tell if you're joking," he said simply.

"Okay, first of all: I'm not. Second: do you really think I'd joke about that?" he said, fixing his gaze. "After how vulnerable you've been to me about the whole thing? Come on E, cut me some slack."

Enjolras looked at him for a long moment, long enough for Grantaire to think he was mad again before he spoke, quietly.

"Well then.. what do we do now?"

Grantaire looked down at his worn sneakers, bouncing one knee. "We don't have to do anything, if you don't want to. Go back to normal."

"And if I do want to?" he asked, straightening up with a familiar stern expression. They held each other's gazes for a long moment, and Enjolras added, in a voice that was probably more halting than he would have liked: "Would you.. would you be willing to help me?"

Grantaire's mouth curved into a smile, and he shrugged. "Well I'm free tomorrow if you want to get take-out."

 

 


	2. 'Til It Breaks (Your Barricade)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'His grip on Grantaire’s calloused fingers tightened through the words, a ghost of the bad tension from before, and immediately Grantaire was squeezing back. If he could make that go away, that tension, he’d have done something good.'

4 Weeks Later. 

When Grantaire opened his door with one foot and some awkward juggling of his noodle pot so he could turn the handle, he had expected a number of people. The pizza guy first, then maybe Bahorel asking if he could crash on the couch again. Or Eponine with the same request but different, jaw set and clutching the hand of a silent Gavroche. Even his land lady, the mysterious Ukrainian woman who lived in the top apartment and smelt of incense, wouldn’t have been a surprise. She occasionally came down just to peer at him, then mutter something too heavily accented for Grantaire to understand (he’s fairly certain it _is_ French, though) before shuffling away, as if checking he still in fact lived here and hadn’t, what, vanished in the night? Set up a drug ring?

Enjolras, however, was a surprise. He turned when the door opened, curls shading his stern blue eyes and his hands in that old red military jacket that he practically lived in.

“Grantaire,” he greeted simply, jaw clenched and tone almost professional, as if it wasn’t 11pm and they met in the dark, dripping corridor outside his apartment all the time.

“Bit past your bedtime, Apollo,” Grantaire replied, remembering to blink and pulling the door open wider with his foot. “What… what’s up?”

“I was wondering if I could come in,” he said, voice void of any anger even though he looked pretty mad about something. It was an unsettling combination and Grantaire swallowed, before nodding quickly.

“Uh, yeah sure, of course.” He stepped back a little and Enjolras gave a sharp nod, moving to follow him in. The apartment, luckily, wasn’t as trashed as usual – Courf had stayed over the night before and insisted that they blitz the place, humming _A Spoonful of Sugar_ as he danced round the piles of clothes like a demented fairy with curls – and so stepping into the tiny living space wasn’t as embarrassing as it could be.  Having said that, it didn’t stop Grantaire from hurrying over to the ring-stained table between the couch and the TV to shut his laptop, grab the magazines he’d been looking at to sketch a particularly stunning Andrej Pejic shoot and shove them under the faded brown armchair. Enjolras had actually been here quite a few times, either at Amis parties or more recently alone, but Grantaire seemed to have forgotten that. The blonde’s eyes trained themselves on the pot of noodles, and when his short-notice host turned to ask if he wanted a drink, Enjolras had to drag his gaze up with a growling stomach.

Grantaire grinned a grin that Eponine called dorkish. “Hungry?”

After a hesitation, he gave a reluctant nod – he hadn’t been home to eat since breakfast. Grantaire murmured through a smirk that he’d fix something up, running a hand through his beanie-less curls and turning to lope into the kitchen. Enjolras watched him go, eyes flicking briefly over the snake tattoo winding round his bare left arm before clearing his throat and deciding to sit on the couch while he waited. The apartment smelt of Grantaire and faint cigarettes, although the latter always seemed to accompany the former and Enjolras didn’t mind it, perching on the edge of one of the black leather cushions and tapping one foot absent-mindedly. The small knot of tension still sat in his chest. It had been there all day, and was what pushed him to finally leave the back of the Musain where he’d been lurking on his own, the attempt to distract himself with work on his laptop failing. Grantaire began to hum in the kitchen. Enjolras listened, and found the deep, warm sound a little soothing. He knew Grantaire sang well, and the simple little tune made him inexplicably anxious to hear that voice now. He and Bahorel sang when they were drunk sometimes, but Enjolras had always tuned it out as an annoyance when the strong, deeper notes and those gentle, delicate high ones had started to make his spine tingle. Grantaire had sung to Enjolras directly once – Patti Labelle, was it? – and Enjolras had ripped him to pieces for it, blushing all the while and much to the amusement of the Amis. (“ _Not that kind of proposition, Grantaire!”_ ).

“MESDAMES ET MESSIEURS, THE FINEST SANDWICH IN THE HISTORY OF FRANCE.”

Enjolras looked up as Grantaire buzzed back into the living room making a lot of general noise and holding a plate in two hands above his head like a holy relic. Apollo gave the offering a slightly bemused look as it was placed before him, lip turned in a small smile. “Thank you,” he murmured, sincere despite himself as he picked up the plate and his stomach growled again.

“But of course, dear leader.” Grantaire picked up his abandoned noodles and fork from the table and flopped down in the armchair facing the couch. His nervousness had faded once Enjolras had asked for food – something he wouldn’t have done if he’d been mad at him. About to ban him from meetings. Ending their research. Grantaire had considered a number of possibilities on first seeing that stern, restless look.

Enjolras ate in small, methodical bites and never looked up while he ate, so Grantaire took the time to finish his own food. The pizza was main course, and he decided Enjolras could have half when it arrived. The artist noted the tension strung across his broad, thin shoulders as he ate, a classic tell with Enjolras that made his posture curve like he was getting ready to break down a door. It was his fighting stance, his defensive stance and his uncomfortable-with-emotion stance, so the real skill was trying to work out which one it was this time. He waited until he’d inhaled his noodles and Enjolras’ plate was put carefully on the table with another “Thank you” before speaking, and for some reason he felt he should cut out anymore joking preamble.

“So, what’s up man? It’s pretty late for you to be like, wandering this neighbourhood.” He didn’t live in a particularly safe quartier for anyone that fit the description of ‘angelic’.

Enjolras grimaced, giving a kind of shrug. “I… I am not certain.”

“Okay..” Uncomfortable-with-emotion it is, then. Grantaire could deal with that, and relaxed more into his chair. “You here because you wanna talk about it, or is this a ‘Shut up Taire and let me sulk on your couch in silence’ thing?” Maybe he would draw him this time?

“I don’t sulk,” he replied, a little sulkily. “And it’s the former, anyway.”

How strange it was that they did this now. That Enjolras came to Grantaire’s apartment, ate a ham sandwich on his couch, then asked if they could talk about feelings. Grantaire still wasn’t quite used to it, and wondered if he ever would be.

“Is this, um…” Grantaire tried not to chew his lip, and Enjolras tried not to watch him. “Is it, like, research related?”

“Possibly.”

“Okay. Cool, okay.”

“Is that an issue?” he asked immediately, looking up to fix him with blue eyes that seemed almost violet in the dim light of the living room. It was a genuine question, not a challenge. Grantaire was seeing more of a vulnerable Enjolras recently, not that he’d dare say that out loud.

“E, it’s still not an issue,” he told him gently.

“Still?”

“You ask if this is okay every time we do it.” ‘It’ referring to getting take-out, watching old movies and the other odd, friendly things Grantaire suggested so that Enjolras wouldn’t feel awkward or obligated to talk. ‘It’ was the times when he did speak (or perhaps rant) about a recent feeling that contradicted others, or made him angry, even scared. Not that Enjolras ever admitted the last one.

‘It’ was sometimes a kiss. But Grantaire tried not to think about that. Research, that was all – for Enjolras, not for him.

“Yes, well.” Enjolras shifted a little restlessly. “Consent is important.”

That made Grantaire smile. “Amen to that. Alright, I consent to this conversation, Apollo, if hearing me say that really makes a difference.” He sat back a little in the armchair. “So what first? Has anything changed?”

An immediate nod. Then when nothing else was offered, Grantaire decided to get up from the armchair and cross over to the couch – he felt too much like Mlle Fournier, his high school therapist, in his own chair.

“Is it related to your apparent hunger strike?” he asked as he flopped down beside him and put his feet on the coffee table.

“If I’d been on hunger strike I wouldn’t break it for one of your ham sandwiches,” Enjolras muttered. “What would be the point of such a strike if I just-“

“Enjolras.” Grantaire raised his eyebrows, and somehow managed to just smile with his gaze. The patience there made something soften in Enjolras’ chest, like a fist unclenching. He even apologised, with a silent glance. Then:

“Combeferre and Courfeyrac are driving me insane,” he said bluntly. Grantaire’s eyebrows climbed further.

“Pourquoi, mon chéri?”

He sighed restlessly, still leaning his elbows forward on his knees and looking tense. “It’s unfair of me.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Enjolras shot him a sidelong glance, eyes snagging on his crossed arms before he looked at the blank TV again. Grantaire didn’t go to the gym (“ _This beauty’s all natural, my dear Jehan”_ ), so Enjolras didn’t know how he achieved that kind of muscle.

“I’m irritated by their physical relationship. Which doesn’t make sense because I am genuinely happy for them both at the same time.” After a moment he added, and might of coloured slightly as he did so: “I did what you suggested last time, by the way.”

“And?” Grantaire had jokingly set him ‘research homework’, but apparently not jokingly enough.

“I… don’t think I’m sex repulsed.”

Grantaire was not going to ask what that research had involved. He was not. “Oh okay. So it’s not specifically the _double C action_ that’s getting on your nerves?” he said teasingly. It got a small smile out of him, and he murmured a quiet reply: “Actually, Courf refers to them as either ‘The Dream Team’ or ‘Combeferrac’, depending on how much sugar he’s recently inhaled.”

“He named his own relationship?” It was always an odd alliance between them, sharing Courfeyrac as a best friend.

“He did indeed.”

Grantaire studied his profile for a few moments, Hellenic with his square jaw and dark gold curls. _Fuck, Enjolras_. “Do you think it’s jealousy?”

“What?” Enjolras looked round with an indignant stare. “No. Absolutely not. They’re my brothers.” Grantaire felt his own pang of jealously at how easily Enjolras said that. Declared his loyalty to the two of them. He’d give everything to have that kind of value. “It’s just…” Enjolras was continuing without having noticed the flicker across Grantaire’s face, and when he spoke next he emphasized the words with his long, thin hands. “It makes me _angry_. But not in the usual way, not in the way I get about other things.” It made him unable to work some days, and that was infuriating. It made him inexplicably annoyed with Grantaire, and that was just confusing.

“E,” the artist began carefully, then paused. Enjolras looked at him expectantly. Grantaire began again. “Don’t get mad, but… it is still possible you’re jealous.”

Enjolras scoffed, tossing his head at the idea and sitting back heavily into the couch. “Really ‘Taire, I don’t feel like that for either of them.” Grantaire twisted a little to look at him better, liking the sound of the nickname from his mouth.

“Okay, but what about the relationship? It’s, like, completely normal to be-“  Lonely? No. Grantaire always felt saying the word was too close to a confession of his own. He rephrased: “To wish you had that kind of thing.”

“So what if it is, that wouldn’t explain or excuse my being irritated with _you_.”

That made him blink in surprise. “Wait, what? It makes you mad at me?” He let out half a laugh. “What did _I_ do, dear leader?”

“Exactly!” Enjolras cried, and his own lip twisted in a smile too as he threw up his hands, tipping back his head to gaze at the ceiling. “I hope you appreciate how complicated you’ve made things for me,” he murmured with amusement, almost as an afterthought.

Grantaire snorted, taking in how the low light warmed his skin and muttering: “Join the club.”

“And in the end all I could think to do was come here,” Enjolras continued, only registering what Grantaire had said too later to ask what he’d meant. “Because I needed to say something to _someone_ , and you’re…”

Oh. He stopped himself, because there was the catch. The problem. The same thing that made him colour slightly when Grantaire looked at him particularly intensely, as he did now.

 _He was what?_ The artist thought, suddenly nervous. _Shit, was he upset?_ That face had suddenly clouded, that jaw clenching. Then Enjolras sat up and turned to him with alarming decisiveness, and Grantaire was certain that he’d somehow blown it. He was going to call this whole thing off. He met those serious blue eyes and his stomach dropped painfully – he’d miss it, that’s for sure, and he didn’t even know what he’d done wrong.

“Grantaire, would you mind if-“

“I get it E, it’s completely-“

“-we kissed again?”

Oh. They both looked at each other. Grantaire slowly felt the life come back into him, as if Enjolras was the sun on a small daisy. “Oh,” he said brilliantly.

“What… what did you think I was going to say?” Enjolras asked.

“Nothing! Nothing, yeah that’s fine!” he said hurriedly, pushing a hand through his dense curls and bringing his legs under him so that he could face him better. Judging by Enjolras’ slightly guarded look, it wasn’t that effective.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I-I thought you were mad, that’s all, it’s cool,” he replied, and when he met his gaze with a small grin, anxiety gone as quickly as it had come, Enjolras felt his chest tighten at how _blue_ his eyes were. Had they always been like that? After a moment he mentally shook himself and took a breath.

“Okay, so...” He shifted to face Grantaire better as well. This part was the worst – awkward talking coupled with a small, thrumming anticipation that made him nervous and useless. Grantaire watched a blush warm Enjolras’ face and he plastered on an easy smile despite how his heart complained.

“Alright, well... you lead, yeah?”

Enjolras nodded. “Yes.” _Just do it, you’ve done it before, just get this part over with_ -

Grantaire’s lips tasted salty. He’d gasped in a nervous breath just before Enjolras touched him, but now silence fell in the apartment, all except for the sound of sliding material as Enjolras’ knee slowly bent to angle him better. He felt Grantaire’s hand soon drift to rest on his hip, and his heart, already skipping from nerves, kicked faster. The first time they broke for air, their noses and their foreheads stayed touching. Grantaire expected him to pull away now, but he still stayed where he was with some small hope he wouldn’t, looking into his eyes with his own a little wide. Then Enjolras simply murmured: “Kiss me back,” and Grantaire barely had time to process the permission before their lips were together again. He obeyed, of course. He kissed him slowly at first, frowning slightly as he pressed so carefully against him. It was as if the artist didn’t quite know what to do with himself. But then Enjolras opened his mouth a little more and something changed, igniting in Grantaire and happily giving way in Enjolras, because _god_ , Grantaire’s _tongue_ was-

Enjolras gasped and pulled him closer by the front of his shirt, hands tightly bunched in the material as they slipped slowly down the couch until Grantaire was over him and kissing him into the leather, arms bracketing his thin frame. Enjolras’ whole body slowly started to burn. He released Grantaire’s shirt to run trembling hands over him, fluttering a little in their uncertainty, but when they found his arms, his chest, his stomach, his fingers explored the muscle there with more purpose. It addled Grantaire’s brain, and as he broke away to breath his eyes stayed closed for a moment longer than they should have done. “You can…” he tried, but quickly gave up on words for a demonstration, taking one of Enjolras’ slim hands in his larger, rougher one and guiding carefully under his shirt before kissing him again. When Enjolras’ fingers pushed almost greedily over the contours of his abs, he felt the muscle quiver there. _It was_ his _touch_ , Enjolras thought hazily as Grantaire’s teeth grazed his bottom lip. _It was_ his _touch that made Grantaire do that._

“You’re skin’s burning,” he whispered, and he’d never heard his own voice come out low like that before. He wondered if Grantaire liked it, and he felt a sudden surge of wanting to be touched as well. It was a foreign feeling as hot as Grantaire’s skin that was all _Grantaire, Grantaire’s hands, Grantaire’s mouth_ hitting him like a wave and making him widen his legs to bring him even closer, ankles hooking over the back of Grantaire’s and hands pulling them flush together as naturally as breathing.

“E?” Grantaire asked, in lieu of twenty other questions spinning round his head as that damn _hand_ moved up over his chest and made his brain backwards, made him hard, because _fuck_ apparently that was all it took when it was Enjolras under him. But Enjolras didn’t reply, because it was then that Grantaire happened to shift and his weight moved against his crotch.

“Shit,” he blurted, voice a fraction higher than usual. He’d never felt that before, and _shit_ , that was a good feeling. 

“You okay?” Grantaire then murmured close to his ear, voice a little distracted because that hadn’t felt so bad for him either and he had to fight to keep his hips still as they kissed again. But it was as Enjolras’ back arched slightly off the leather that nervous thoughts began to filter through. _Should he take his shirt off? Would Grantaire want to touch him?_

“I’m fine,” he managed eventually. Blue eyes wide on the ceiling, Enjolras made himself breathe. As Grantaire moved to kissing his jaw, the hand that wasn’t under the artist’s shirt tightened in his curls. He fought against the slow, tightening feeling that was suddenly creeping into his chest.

_He was okay. This felt good. If… If Grantaire wanted to have sex with him, he’d let him. He’d be fine._

“Can I touch you, E?”

Enjolras swallowed hard. “Y-Yes, of course,” he said quickly, turning his head away to let Grantaire kiss his neck more and trying to relax under his hands. Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ heart like a bird’s against his ribs, and every time those long fingers pulled his hair he had to gasp, hand moving down between them until he’d passed Enjolras’ belt and could feel how the material of his jeans had tightened. He squeezed, tentatively, and a soft noise escaped the smaller man’s lips as he tensed right up at the sensation.

“Okay?” Grantaire said shakily as he did it again, this time starting to palm him more steadily through the denim. Enjolras’ throat worked, and as Grantaire kissed under his jaw he felt how tightly Enjolras had started holding his shirt.

“Enjolras?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine,” came the quick reply. After a moment, Grantaire paused. He felt how rigid Enjolras was under him, and slowly stopped his hand.

“Are you-“

“It’s fine, Taire.” But his voice shook as he said it. Something tilted in Grantaire’s gut, and he frowned, lifting his head to look-

Enjolras’ eyes were tear-filled.

“ _Fuck_ , Enjolras-“

“It’s fine, I-“

“No, _shit_ ,” Grantaire blurted, immediately pulling back and using the back of the couch to get completely off him. The slow burning arousal in him twisted into something foul-tasting. “Shit, fuck, I’m so sorry-“  He watched as Enjolras swallowed and pushed himself upright too, quickly swiping at his eyes and going red with shame.

“It’s not you, it’s not-“ he tried, voice weak and making Grantaire feel sick. “I’m just not used to it, I’m sorry, you can still-“

“No, you don’t- god Enjolras I’m so fucking sorry I realise you were-“ crying. Grantaire had been touching him and he’d been crying. Enjolras turned away from a little to try and hide his burning face, anger rising with his shame and making his hands shake as he swiped away the stupid tears. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he have just let it happen, why did he have to ruin the first time he’d felt like a normal fucking guy?

“I just need… I’m just going to get some water,” he murmured eventually, standing from the couch with his head uncharacteristically bowed and retreating to the kitchen as quickly as he could. Grantaire watched him go. His stomach lurched and he pressed a fist to his lips, certain for a moment that he’d throw up. But the moment passed to leave him empty. When he heard the kitchen tap, and then the ensuing silence, he blindly started to pick up Enjolras’ plate from the table, his noodle pot from the armchair, and put them in a pointless pile on the table again, legs shaking. What was he going to do? If he was Enjolras he would be grabbing his bag right now.

Then the doorbell rang.

For a moment Grantaire had a wild thought that it was Combeferre and Courfeyrac, Enjolras having called them to rescue him the moment he’d left the room. But it was the pizza delivery guy. For a few dumb moments, Grantaire just stared at him. Then he remembered ordering what felt like a hundred years ago, and he fumblingly pulled too many euros from his pocket and took the box with an almost silent thanks. With the door shut, he stood in the dark hallway looking down at the warm cardboard. He’d wanted to share it with Enjolras.

He drew in a breath, coming to a decision and running a hand through his hair as if to spur himself. When he knocked on the closed kitchen door, the hollow sound made the apartment feel strangely empty.

“Come in.”

The kitchen was dark, all except for the street lamp’s sodium glow though the tiny window above the sink. Enjolras was looking out of it, a glass of water to his lips and one hand holding the counter. He looked round, though, when Grantaire shuffled in.

“The pizza came,” he began lamely, then pushed his hand through his hair again with eyes apologetically lowered.

“Oh.” Enjolras cleared his throat a little – he had calmed, the dark kitchen and the cold water helping to soothe the flare of anxiety. “I wondered who rang the bell.”

“I’m going to Bahorel’s,” Grantaire then said quite suddenly, putting the pizza on the side in one jerky movement. “I-I don’t want you to walk home this late, so you can stay here and watch TV, or just sleep, or whatever you want. I’ll leave the pizza too, so you can eat that if… if you want.”

Enjolras felt a tug in his chest. “You don’t have to leave,” he murmured quietly, looking up at him. But Grantaire was pale, and he shook his head.

“I don’t want you to have to be around me. I moved too fast, I should have-“ But then he faltered, because Enjolras took his hand. His skin was cold from the glass, and the immediacy of him, suddenly right there and gripping his fingers, made him go still.

“Grantaire,” he murmured, eyes lighting on his with muted assurance. “Please, enough. I told you it’s not your fault.”

“Did…” Grantaire swallowed. He didn’t deserve that look. “Did I scare you?” he asked numbly. “Was that why?”

Enjolras sighed looking to the side briefly before meeting his gaze again. A slight frown fell into place, and his mouth turned down a little. “Not you. Just… it. It scared me.” His grip on Grantaire’s calloused fingers tightened through the words, a ghost of the bad tension from before, and immediately Grantaire was squeezing back. If he could make that go away, that tension, he’d have done something good. He opened his mouth to say something, an odd flurry of boldness overtaking him for a moment - the kind of feeling that spurred people to swear on their lives or confess their love. But then he closed it. That was the sort of thing Enjolras would do, not Grantaire. Grantaire would open his mouth to say: “It’s your call, Apollo,” like he did then. “We only do what you want to do, okay?”

“Thank you,” he murmured. Then he leant in to a press a kiss to his cheek. Grantaire closed his eyes and felt their fingers knotted.

“No worries,” he said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any requests or prompt ideas for this particular e/r dynamic, or any more general prompts you'd want me to write, I'd be super grateful - I want to write more chapters of this and am hunting for inspiration! drop me a comment and i will love you yay! ^_^ x


	3. Eponine's Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took ages to update because I suck. If you noticed I'm sorry, thanks for coming back to read <3  
> (Also, a note to Closet_Cleaner, if you're reading: thanks so much for your prompt on the last chapter - do not think I ignored you. Although this chapter doesn't follow your prompt, it has been added to my brain soup and given me fantastical ideas for a possible one-shot. I'll dedicate it to you, if it ever happens <3)

Eponine was already a little shaken. Marius and Cosette gave her their gift half an hour ago, watched by the Amis as the three of them curled on Courfeyrac's couch together, birthday girl in the centre. It was a book. Leather-bound, small, and inside... _fucking emotional bullshit_ that made her cry.

They'd written down things about her from the last six months, just little notes with a date. Like how she'd smiled that day in Marius' loopy handwriting. How she'd made Cosette feel wanted, that time she'd let her cry to her over the phone for an hour about her mom. They'd even gotten Gavroche to write a goddamn essay to her in the back. _Gavroche was dyslexic, he hated that kind of shit, how did they-_

“He insisted, babe,” Cosette murmured.

“What the fuck,” she bit out thickly, and they both grinned, hugging her when she pulled them close. “What the fuck, guys.”

“You're welcome, Ep.”

“Love you,” she muttered into Marius' shirt and Cosette's hair, and Jehan had excused themself to the bathroom, fanning their eyes and simpering a motherly “ _You guys kill me_ ” as they breezed out.

No one was unaffected because they were a sensitive group, and hell, if _Eponine_ was getting teary-eyed no one was safe. Combeferre's jaw was set, and he pressed a kiss to Courfeyrac's curls with the air of someone remembering to appreciate what they had while they still had it – Courfeyrac curled into his side with big watery eyes, all quiet. Bossuet and Joly made a show of kissing Musichetta's cheeks where they were sprawled on the floor, and Chetta broke into giggles, smacking them away with both her hands.

Enjolras..

Enjolras wondered when Grantaire would get here.

He took out his phone from the pocket of his skinny jeans and slid his thumb across, leaning back against the kitchen door jamb with his beer in the other hand. No new messages, but when he read back through the last ones they'd exchanged he smiled slightly.

 

**E wots it called when satisfying ur desires is the point of life**

_Context?_

**philosophy**

Oh, hedonism?

**nice thank u x**

_No problem._

_x._

 

God, he'd stared at that tiny letter for a whole minute before hitting send, and even now he felt a kind of shyness creep up the back of his neck as he looked at it. Then he shook himself before he started thinking too much about kisses – something that was happening with a rather alarming increase in frequency.

The doorbell buzzed.

Everyone looked up from their conversations and general displays of physical affection (Enjolras was _not_ a jealous person) with a start, then Courfeyrac whooped and stumbled up from Combeferre's space on the carpet to get the door.

“Ah shit, Grantaire's going to be..” Eponine began, before throwing an arm across her face to hide her smile. Enjolras frowned at her, then at the door. From his spot by the kitchen he had a perfect line of sight, and when Courfeyrac yanked it open he could immediately see-

_Oh._

“Hey Courf!” Grantaire grinned, holding up a bottle of unopened wine before getting tackled by his smaller friend.

He... He had a suit on. Enjolras blinked and gave a funny kind of inhale that no one noticed. When he finally managed to get through the door, laughing at Courf's clingy arms, Enjolras could see his hair was different. Shorter at the sides but still messy curls on top, and his white shirt was buttoned up. Skinny black tie, black jacket.

He looked..

“Oh my god 'Taire you complete _dork_.”

Eponine stood and threw her dark arms round his shoulders. They were the same height with her heels, although he was broader, and she fell silent as she put her face in his shoulder. Grantaire smiled at the wall behind her, their friends cooing or gently laughing as he brought his free arm up to hold her back.

“Happy birthday, kiddo,” he said, and Enjolras was startled by how much affection he saw in his face. It was a soft, almost bitter-sweet look, and when she squeezed him tightly he closed his eyes, a frown appearing on his brow and making Enjolras look away – it felt like something Grantaire wouldn't want him to see.

Then the moment ended.

“Your hair's different,” Eponine said flatly as she pulled back, inspecting it with a shove of critical fingers into his curls. He grinned and batted her away, thanking Combeferre when he offered to take the bottle from him.

“Yeah, you like it?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, then threw her gaze back to her girlfriend. “Doesn't it look cool?”

Cosette hummed her agreement, and was rewarded by a stunning white smile that Enjolras had never seen Eponine give before. He was really starting to appreciate this vantage point.

“Grantaire shall I open this?” Combeferre asked as he unfolded his long frame into a stand, pushing up his glasses and gesturing to the bottle. Grantaire was just about to be enveloped by Jehan's silk-draped arms (they'd finished fixing any stray eyeliner), and he glanced at him with a smile.

“What? Oh yeah, thanks 'Ferre.”

Combeferre nodded and stepped with mantis-like balance over the sea of people in small floor space between the couches and the kitchen, leaving Jehan's chorus of “Grantaire my _darling_ we missed you _en Paris_!” behind him. Enjolras smiled at him when he neared, and Combeferre raised his eyebrows as if to say: e _xtroverts, eh?_ before stepping into the kitchen, briefly clasping his shoulder as he passed. It made something fierce raise its head in Enjolras' chest, something raw and loyal and familiar. The only outward sign was a slight lift of his chin. He sipped his beer, and wondered if that was what Grantaire felt for Eponine. He hadn't always been able to see why Eponine, sharp and brutal as she could be, cared so much for him.

But now.

Grantaire's eyes at last found Enjolras, and he gave him a stupid wave over Jehan's shoulder, blue eyes bright.

Now, maybe he could see what she was getting at.

“Jehan – Jehan, get off me will you, I've got to – thanks. God, that necklace is _sharp_.”

“Your hair is gorgeous, R,” they murmured as they released him, titling their head like a bird as they studied it. “I could put some blue in it for you when you're next round.”

“You think?” Grantaire pushed his hand into the dense black, head dipping a little as he met Jehan's large eyes. “I dunno if I'd suit blue, to be honest..”

_It would match your eyes_ , Enjolras thought immediately, and he almost said it across the room, spurred by the self-consciousness that had visibly overtaken him. Didn't he realise how he looked? How everybody saw him?

“Oh you would, _ch_ _é_ _ri_.” Jehan plucked long fingers at the top of his head. “Just a little, mind you. No one wants a repeat of Courfeyrac at Christmas.”

Grantaire laughed and it made his face scrunch up, his head ducking – Enjolras' chest tightened at the sound and he tried not to smile. Then there was a presence at his side and he quickly tore his eyes away to the newcomer.

“Now, I'm no mindreader,” Combeferre said lowly, and although his face was impassive there was amusement in his dark eyes as he pressed a wine glass into his friend's free hand. “But I think..” He glanced at their chattering companions. “Something is new with you.”

His accented tone had been soothing to Enjolras on countless occasions, but now it made him a little nervous. He straightened up slightly, putting his beer on the side in the process – they stood close, always did, and Combeferre was half turned away from the rest of the room.

“I don't know what you mean,” he replied quietly, but his pale eyes didn't stray. Combeferre raised an eyebrow.

_That's never true._

_Isn't it?_

_No, idiot._

A smile tugged though Enjolras' attempt at indifference – trust Combeferre to insult him with just a tilt of the head. The other man lifted his own glass of wine, and although Enjolras was now looking away, shoulders relaxing a little into the wall behind him, Combeferre's eyes continued to study him over the rim. Grantaire seemed to have forgotten his initial course (or he'd been scared off by the sight of two thirds of the triumvirate standing inches apart and quite possibly discussing the destruction of the fifth Republic), and was now asking Musichetta about Paris, perched on the coffee table with his back to them.

“Enjolras.”

Enjolras met his gaze again.

“It is my understanding that when you have that look in your eye, my friend, you should speak.”

“I wouldn't know what to say.”

Combeferre looked at him. _If Grantaire stood this close_ , Enjolras found himself thinking, _they'd be about to kiss._

“I like your hair.”

“What?” Enjolras frowned.

“It's sweet that you always wear a suit on Eponine's birthday. Is that a new tattoo on your hand? Your laugh makes me gape like an idiot.”

Enjolras hit his chest.

“What?” Combeferre chuckled as he started turning naturally back towards Courfeyrac's side of the room. “Just some ideas.”

“Helpful as always, 'Ferre.”

Combeferre just grinned, then he stepped back over to the far corner to join his boyfriend, sipping his wine as he went. Enjolras watched him settle, watched the way he automatically braced as he sat so that Courfeyrac could sprawl back across him comfortably.

If he hadn't been watching this, he might have noticed how Grantaire immediately got up when Combeferre left, excusing himself from Musichetta, Joly and Bossuet, to head over. He also might have noticed Grantaire's doc martin catch on the corner of the coffee table, before it was too late to stop him crashing right into him.

“Ow shit!” Grantaire's hand caught the kitchen door frame just in time to stop them falling over completely, but not before his head had hit his chin and his bulk had entirely winded him.

“Enjolras shit are you okay?” he blurted as he pulled them both upright, propping Enjolras against the wall again like he couldn't do it himself and then throwing a glare at the offending table behind him. “The fucking table-”

But then he stopped, realising everyone had suddenly gone quiet. He looked at Enjolras.

There was wine. On the red jacket. There was wine on the red jacket that Enjolras loved more than his hypothetical first born child, and the wine glass in his long fingers was now very empty.

“ _Merde_ ,” Enjolras murmured softly, looking down at himself.

Then the room exploded.

“I'll get water!” Marius cried as Courfeyrac said “Shit we need salt!”

“Enjolras take it off!”

“How the fuck do we-”

“ _Someone google it!_ ”

Grantaire yelped as he was nearly sent flying again, this time by Cosette as she leapt to her brother's side and immediately disarmed him of the wine glass, then started helping the jacket off him with an alarming combination of both speed and care.

“Has is gone through to the lining?” she murmured almost to herself, and Enjolras was silent, pale-faced as someone that was probably Courfeyrac wailed a forlorn “What do we _do_?!”

“Okay, it _says_ ,” Combeferre boomed, upstanding and reading from his phone over the top of his glasses, “blot the stain, pour cold water on it, then use salt.”

“Got it!” Cosette dashed into the kitchen, followed by Eponine and preceded by Marius, their faces grim like ER nurses as they prepared to assess the casualty. Combeferre moved past everyone in the living room to follow her through, opening his mouth to give more instructions and promptly shutting the kitchen door behind him with a foot at the same time. Enjolras knew that was specifically to stop him breathing down their necks, and he grimaced at the very definite barrier, Combeferre's voice and the rush of the tap muffled behind it. He wouldn't have interfered _that_ much.

But then Enjolras' attention was caught by something else, and when he looked round...

His stomach tightened - Grantaire was standing there the epitome of guilt, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. There was wine on his shirt too, rather artistically sloshed across his chest.

“I'm.. I'm really fucking sorry, E,” he mumbled, and even their friends had to grimace at how kicked-puppy he looked. Enjolras' mouth twisted in sympathy (a rare expression on his face, it was a shame Grantaire missed it).

“Grantaire, your shirt,” he said eventually, stepping towards him, and when Grantaire looked down at himself he just gave a disheartened shrug. “Doesn't matter,” he said, “it's just a bit.”

“We can get it out,” Enjolras assured him, reaching up to take his suit jacket off him. “If we just give it to-”

“Nah, don't worry.” He caught his hands and shook his head – his palms nearly covered Enjolras', and they were warm and dry. “I got tons of these anyway.”

“But..”

“It's cool, E.” Enjolras' protest wasn't much of an obstacle for once – his voice had significantly weakened at the touch of their hands, and a faint colour rose onto his cheekbones when Grantaire squeezed to reassure him. Then he was released, Grantaire glancing towards the kitchen door.

“It's your grandad’s jacket, isn't it?” he then murmured, worry making his eyes a darker blue as he frowned. “Shit, if they can't get it out-”

“If they can't get it out it's red wine on a red jacket,” Enjolras said, and he surprised himself with his certainty. “I won't even notice.”

“But-”

“I won't, Grantaire, honestly.”

Grantaire looked at him, surprise flickering across his own face. What, did he expect him to go crazy over an accident? Was that really the kind of thing he'd-

Oh.

Yes, that exactly the kind of thing he'd rip into Grantaire for.

Enjolras clenched his jaw and gave a nod, resolutely confirming his words and trying not to shift with the new feeling of awkwardness that was trying to settle over him. But it was worth it, because then Grantaire gave him this shy, grateful smile that he'd never given Enjolras before.

It was.. quite lovely.

“Thanks Apollo.”

And now he wished they were alone together. Again he nodded, and Enjolras hoped Grantaire would read something in the way their gazes touched, as Combeferre could, because he couldn't think of the words to say in front of everyone. Then Courfeyrac was suddenly calling Grantaire over, making grabby hands and suggesting he borrow one of his shirts, and the ridiculous image of Courf's tiny clothes barely even fitting Grantaire's shoulders was enough to stop Enjolras getting annoyed at having him taken away. Just about.

 

_*_

 

Enjolras' jacket came out wine-free. Jehan suggested the kitchen team be awarded medals “For services to vintage clothing”, and Enjolras immediately wanted to put it back on – he didn't quite make grabby hands, but the way he stood up when the kitchen door finally opened like a father outside the delivery room wasn't far off. It was damp though, and Combeferre had said he'd catch a chill. So after a short round of glaring (“You're _inside_ , Enjolras, you'll survive without it for twenty minutes,”) the old jacket was spread across the one radiator that still worked in Courfeyrac's living room.

Enjolras looked over at it. Nightime's gloom had set in now and the Amis were lit by the TV screen, a sea of legs and popcorn bowls as they munched and murmured.

“I am _so_ attracted to Richard Gere.” They were watching _Chicago_.

“Ew Grantaire, he's like, ninety,” Cosette said from the couch behind them, her head in Eponine's lap and her feet on Marius'.

“No he's not, no ninety year old could dance like that.”

“Shut up, I'm missing it.” Eponine was staring quite intensely at Catherine Zeta-Jones. Enjolras, meanwhile, could feel how tense Grantaire was beside him – they were sitting shoulder to shoulder against the couch – and he had to smile.

“He is a good dancer,” he murmured quietly.

“Right? God I fucking love this scene.” He wiggled down a little and continued to gape and mouth along to the screen, and Enjolras glanced at his face, amused. When it came to the last line of whatever scene this was (“It's _Tap Dancing Round the Witness_ , E,”), Jehan, Courf and Grantaire all cried “ _The defence rests!_ ” together. Then Grantaire flopped back against the couch as if he were the one who had just done the whole routine and murmured a defeated:

“God, do me.”

“ _Grantaire!_ ”

“Richard Gere is my soul mate and I won't hear a word against him!” he replied proudly to the general chorus of horror, opening his arm at the same time to put it round Enjolras. “And Enjolras agrees, anyway. We're going to form a new triumvirate.”

“What, you, me and Richard Gere?” Enjolras said, blushing despite his small laugh as the heat of Grantaire's side drew him a little closer in the dark.

“Sounds like a bad movie,” Combeferre muttered.

“You're just jealous, 'Ferre. I'll be the brawn, Richard can be the dancing, and Enjolras is the good-looks.”

They laughed, and when Grantaire glanced, smiling, at Enjolras, Enjolras hoped it was too dark to see his flush. It wasn't, but Grantaire didn't say anything. As everyone settled again, both the movie and the discussion becoming considerably less to do with Richard Gere, Enjolras felt himself relax more than he'd done in a while. Grantaire's arm was heavy and his skin was like a furnace through his shirt. He was starting to be glad that his jacket had been decommissioned - something about the way Grantaire's fingers grazed his hip through fabric sent a shiver right through him. He shifted a little and breathed in the smell of something gently chemical – when he recognised it he almost laughed.

“You smell of paint, 'Taire,” he murmured quietly.

“What?” Grantaire moved to smell his sleeve immediately. “Oh for fuck's sake, I washed this twice as well.”

“You paint in a suit?”

“Nah, it's just the room I use smells of it all over, and I got changed in there because my land lady spies on me through the front window.”

“She- what?”

“I'm using spray paint at the moment, you see, that's why you can smell it.”

Enjolras sat up a little so that he could frown down at him. “Your land lady spies on you?”

Grantaire rolled his head to meet his gaze – when had they moved to lying down? - and shrugged. “Not like, _spying_ spying. Just.. keeping an eye on me. All the time.”

“What- Grantaire, that's a severe breach of your privacy.”

“Nah, it's fine.”

Enjolras stared at him, and for some reason the mild horror on his face was amusing.

“Grantaire, be serious,” Enjolras huffed when he started chuckling. “This woman has no right to watch you like that, what if she's some kind of-”

“Mrs Liski is not a pervert, E, relax. She speaks French,” he said, as if that was somehow perfect reasoning. “And besides, Chetta said she'd make me some curtains – how cool is that? She can just... _make_ curtains.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“No, she really can make curtains.”

“Grantaire.”

“Alright, yeah, a bit.”

Enjolras huffed again and Grantaire just laughed, pulling him gently back down until his head was resting against his chest once more.

“Sorry E,” he murmured, and he didn't sound sorry at all. His fingers lay along the line of his ribs, and for a quiet minute or so they watched the intro of the next film with the others - one of the Harry Potters, although Enjolras had no idea which. Then, circles on his side. He felt himself relax further, and he let Grantaire draw patterns gently on his skin. He didn't know if it was subconscious or deliberate, and he didn't want to look at his face if it meant he'd stop. The feeling was irrationally comforting, and maybe something else. He shifted a little closer. Grantaire tightened his arm a little more.

He didn't feel this for the others. Not any of it.

It was on a whim that he sat up a little again, this time to lean across and press a kiss to Grantaire's cheek. He hadn't shaved, and he felt him smile before he turned his head. Then their lips came together, and this time it was for much longer, Grantaire pushing gently into his mouth in the way he'd learnt Enjolras liked and tightening his arm. Enjolras tried not to sigh at the sensation of so much strength around him, and after a time that really couldn't have been that long he started to feel that feeling, that rare, heated feeling that made him want to be touched. He blushed as soon as he thought it, and at the same moment Grantaire pulled back from their kiss. They couldn't do this here. They were a little out of breath as they looked at each other.

“Go out with me,” Grantaire said.

“Yes, okay.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Grantaire grinned. “Awesome.”

“But I can't guarantee anything,” Enjolras added, although he didn't want to. “What.. what might be a natural progression for some relationships might not be a natural progression for.. for me. If- if that's going to be an issue, then-”

“Enjolras, I really just want to say you're my boyfriend at the moment.”

“Oh. Okay, that's- that's obviously fine, then.”

“And to be honest, even if I just got to..” But then Grantaire stopped himself.

“What?” Enjolras murmured. Grantaire glanced at him, their faces still close. Then he smirked in that way he did when he was embarrassed, and sure enough, the shrug followed. When he looked away Enjolras almost didn't hear him mumble, quietly:

“Just holding your hand would be pretty nice.”

It made his chest do a funny thing, and he wasn't sure if he'd know how to reply. Grantaire saw his face and his smile turned brighter.

“Aw, you're so easy to embarrass.”

“What?”

“Look at you. I've rendered you speechless with affection for me.”

“Shut up,” Enjolras murmured, smile tugging at his lips as he turned to settle into Grantaire's side again.

“As you wish,” he replied quietly, and Enjolras could hear the grin. “Boyfriend mine.”

“I'll hold your hand if it means you never call me that again.”

Grantaire hummed as if considering.

“...Okay. Deal.”

 

It took ten minutes for Courfeyrac to notice they were holding hands, and when he did, he let out a very loud squeal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why does it always amuse me when Courfeyrac autocorrects to 'racecourse'.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed guys. Probably going to leave this fic here, unless someone yells with particularly loud anguish and shoves a prompt in my face.  
> If you wanted smut i'm sorry (i do feel you, though), but I thought it was important to not make sex the 'happy ending'. Sex isn't the 'natural' or 'proper' progression for all happy relationships, and I didn't really want to imply as such with this fic, especially as Enjolras is still not too confident about his preferences :)  
> Much love to the comment leavers and the kudos givers, y'all make me smile.


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